


Nightingale

by TC (thecollective)



Series: till the end of the line [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Cas doesn't know personal boundaries, Cas wants in on the action, Castiel POV, Castiel and Feelings, Dean is in a Stucky sandwich, Destiel Smut Brigade, Diva Birthday Smut, Dream Sex, Dream!fic, First Time, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Gift Fic, Group Sex, Hand Jobs, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Okay just a teensy bit of plot worked itself in, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, Something Made Them Do It, Top Castiel, Voyeur Castiel, possessive!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2504789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/pseuds/TC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castiel enters Dean’s dreams for the final time, he isn’t expecting to see the hunter, naked as the day he was born, in the arms of another man. Correction: in the arms of two other men.</p><p>(Or, what happens when your best friend ships Destiel and Stucky and you decide to write a smutty fic for her birthday.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [C_Diva (thecollective)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecollective/gifts).



> Happy birthday to my blogger, Collectiva Diva, who ships Destiel and Stucky above all other things. 
> 
> I don't own Supernatural or Marvel or any of its characters. I make no profit from writing this (other than kudos). 
> 
> Warnings: Castiel enters Dean's dreams without permission, so all sexual acts are of a somewhat dubiously consensual nature. Set somewhere between 9x22 and 9x23.

 

When Castiel enters Dean’s dreams for the final time, he isn’t expecting to see the hunter, naked as the day he was born, in the arms of another man.

Correction: in the arms of _two_ other men.

He knows he shouldn’t be here, watching Dean at his most vulnerable subconscious state, but the firm muscles of Dean’s left thigh clench every time he’s touched by these two men. It hypnotizes the angel, and even though he shouldn’t need to, he can’t breathe. It’s the psychic connection he has to Dean that’s making him feel like this, feel so human.

The angel feels his stolen grace itching inside him, even in this metaphysical space. Like a splinter, it presses against the outlines of his vessel, threatening to rupture the fragile line of divinity that keeps him celestial, and he knows he doesn’t have much time in Dean’s dream, doesn’t have much time left as an angel. This, however, seems insignificant when he looks at the hunter, enveloped on the largest bed Castiel has ever seen between two sets of strong arms, whose spine arches into the blond man behind him and his hands reach out for the dark man in front of him.

The dark man with a metal arm.

He recognizes them from that film the Winchesters had shown the last time Dean had declared a “bunker movie night.” The blond one, he is the captain injected by a formula that had him mutate on a molecular level, and the other is his best friend, brainwashed and turned into a lethal assassin.

He wants to tell Dean that he remembers, that he knows these men and their cultural significance, but as he opens his mouth to alert Dean to his presence, he remembers the talk they had about _personal boundaries_ and, in fact, Dean’s exact words were, “Respect the subconscious, man.” So he stays silent, and watches as the dark man reaches for Dean and presses his lips to the hunter’s jawline. Castiel wonders what the metal arm feels like for Dean, if the smooth alloy is cold even in his dreams.

The metal arm moves down, presses its fingertips into Dean’s fragile golden skin, silver fingers wrapping around Dean’s cock. Dean moans, the sound softer than Castiel expects, and his eyelashes flutter as he struggles to keep his eyes open, to keep watching what the dreamed version of the dark man is doing to him. Behind Dean, the blond man--a captain, Castiel remembers--presses his lips to that spot just between Dean’s shoulders blades, the one that Castiel’s eyes are often drawn to when Dean wears a suit. The captain, he continues kissing Dean’s spine as his hands travel down, tracing the erector spinae muscles, down to the crest of Dean’s gluteus maximus.

Castiel’s eyes never leave the captain’s right hand, which lingers on the smooth crease of his...of Dean’s bottom. The hand presses in, and the moan that erupts from Dean’s lips goes straight to Castiel’s cock. Oh, so he can be aroused while in someone else’s subconscious. He moves, quietly, so he can see the captain pumping one, two, no _three_ fingers in and out of Dean. He makes note of the way the captain scissors his fingers, and he wants in a way that he hasn’t since he was human. He wants it to be his hand that’s pressing into Dean, making him squirm and writhe and be overcome with sensations to the point of almost-breaking. He wants to be the one to be wrapped around Dean’s cock, pulling, teasing, and wrenching those sounds out of the hunter.

Logically, Castiel knows that the assassin and the captain are simply manifestations of the hunter’s subconscious, but that doesn’t quell the surge of jealousy that races through this representation of his human vessel. He _wants_ , and there isn’t enough Grace left in him to suppress the trembling of his hands, the racing pulse, the _yearning_ that stretches through the whole of him.

He wants, and if he were more human, he would take.

The assassin removes his metal arm from Dean’s cock. Dean grabs at it, places it in his mouth and those lips that are perfect for cocksucking--Castiel doesn’t have to read minds to know what people think when they stare at the Winchester’s bow-shaped lips--press in tightly around the metallic fingers, as if they were a mother’s teat. Castiel has known about Dean’s oral fixation, of course. It’s difficult not to know everything about his human charge after he cradled his soul and remade his physical body. The assassin moves down but his hand remains in Dean’s care. He takes Dean’s cock into his mouth, and the hunter is being taken by both the assassin and the captain. Or is he being given? Castiel’s unsure of what it means to be so thoroughly possessed by subconscious images, but Dean’s eagerly sucking on the assassin’s fingers just as eagerly as the assassin is sucking his cock, and the captain sucks on the tender skin at the base of Dean’s neck as he plunges his fingers in and out of Dean. It’s all suspiciously in time with each other, and Castiel wonders if that’s the benefit of this being a dream and not real life--things that shouldn’t be possible are possible.  

The curve of the assassin’s spine reminds Castiel of a cat stretching out after a satisfying slumber, and he doesn’t stop himself from moving closer and running his fingers down it. He wants to feel what Dean feels, to want what Dean wants. This is Dean, after all, and Castiel has been falling toward this moment for years. When Castiel touches the assassin’s skin, it’s Dean that shudders. The hunter’s eyes open, an impossible verdant hue, and they fix on Castiel.

Castiel prepares to leave; this is Dean’s dream, Dean’s private fantasy, and he expects Dean to wake up when he realizes that Castiel is in it. Dean doesn’t wake up, however, and instead he takes the assassin’s fingers out of his mouth. Castiel tries, and fails, not to be affected by the soft pop! that follows, or the string of saliva that connects his hunter to the assassin’s arm. Dean smiles at him, and Castiel forgets for a second that he shouldn’t be there in the dream. Dean reaches out a hand to him, pulls him in. “Hey there, Cas,” he whispers huskily. It’s the first time Dean’s spoken, and the hoarse lust in his voice makes Castiel want to pull Dean into him, become one with him, and never let him go. “Why are you dressed?” Dean asks. “You don’t need clothes.” So with a thought, Castiel no longer has any, and he’s not sure of what’s happening, of why Dean is pulling his face close to his and running his hands along his unshaven jaw line.  It upsets the positioning of Dean between the assassin and captain, but somehow it works. Castiel leaning over Dean’s torso, the assassin arched over Dean’s cock, and the captain pressed tightly up behind Dean, his hands still pumping furiously into Dean’s body.

“Kiss me,” Dean says. His words are punctuated by sharp exhales of breath, almost moans.

Castiel kisses him, and it’s savage, the way Dean takes him apart, makes the remainder of his Grace shudder and twist and beg for mercy. Their lips fight, the way they’ve fought before--each battling for the upper hand, ultimately realizing that it’s best when they work together. They break apart, and Dean leans his head into Castiel’s shoulder and groans, “Fuck, Cas. _Fuck._ ”

Castiel opens his mouth to tell Dean the truth, that he shouldn’t be there, but instead he says, “What do you want, Dean?”

He can feel Dean crook a smile into a shoulder. “You really gotta ask? Look where we are, man.”

“Would you like me to...participate?”

Dean smiles again. “Hell yeah I’d like that,” he says. “But you, you’re mine.” He leans up, catches Castiel’s lips with his own. This kiss consumes Castiel in all the words he wants to say. _More Dean. More. The blessing of humanity is feeling like this. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop._

_I want to be human._

The last thought surprises Castiel because it’s true, and he presses his lips harder against Dean’s. The hunter moans and traces the outline of the angel’s lips with his tongue, and Castiel opens his mouth to Dean.

He feels. He feels so much that it’s hard to concentrate on anything but the feel of Dean’s tongue inside of his mouth. When he opens his eyes, the assassin and the captain are gone. “Where did the other men go?”

Dean smirks. “It’s just us, Cas. It’s always been just us.” He pulls Castiel on top of him, and Castiel can feel every centimeter of the hunter’s skin; it’s hot like angelfire, and he presses himself down, as if what’s left of his Grace and Dean’s soul could converge through physical touch. Dean presses right back up into him, and his head tilts forward, until his lips are pressed against Castiel’s ear. “I want you, Cas,” he whispers. “Fuck me. That’s how you can participate.” He wraps his legs around Castiel’s torso, and the feel of Dean’s cock against his hip is enough to make Castiel fall again. “Fuck me,” he whispers again, breathy and hoarse. “Do it.”

Dean reaches down and grabs Castiel’s cock. Castiel’s been around for enough millenia to know _how_ this should be done, but he’s utterly unprepared for the way Dean clenches around him, for the tightness, for the long, guttural, groan and strings of curse words that pour out of the hunter’s mouth, and for the overwhelming sense of _rightness_ of it all.

“Fucking _move,_ Cas.”

He doesn’t move slowly, knows that in the dream Dean won’t, no _can’t_ , be hurt. The years of tension break down in the unrelenting pounding of his cock into the hunter. “Harder,” Dean grunts. “I won’t break, Angel.” He growls the last word, and Castiel is determined to make Dean unable to speak again. He snaps his hips harder, and with each thrust he’s met with a moan from Dean. He pushes his thumbs into Dean’s hips. If they were awake and this was reality, Dean would have bruises that matched Castiel’s hands. Castiel likes the thought, likes the thought of Dean looking in the mirror and seeing Castiel in his skin. Perhaps this is why people get tattoos of their lover’s names, he thinks.

Dean is shaking. Castiel knows this is because his cock is grazing the prostate gland. He works harder to hit it with every thrust, while Dean babbles nonsensical combinations of consonants, and it’s a language that Castiel understands.

“Cas,” Dean manages, “Castiel.”

“You said my name. My true name,” he pants, “Say it again.”

“Castiel,” Dean prays, “Castiel, _please_.”

The angel answers Dean Winchester’s prayer. He reaches down between them and grabs Dean’s cock, pumping it the same way he had seen the assassin do earlier. “Is this what you prayed for, Dean?” Castiel asks. “Is this what you dream about?”

“Yes, oh god, yes,” Dean groans. “Please, please, please, Castiel.”

His hand jerks Dean’s dick in time with his thrusts into Dean’s body. Dean’s vocabulary becomes reduced to one word: yes. “Dean,” Castiel says, “Dean.” It’s no less a prayer than Dean’s. Dean arches up into Castiel’s hand as he comes, thick hot spurts of ejaculate coating both of their abdomens. Dean reaches down, rubbing his fingers in it, then sucks it off, one finger at a time. Aroused by the vividness of Dean’s imagination, Castiel thrusts hard one last time and spends himself in Dean. He's left breathless at how much he feels, but Dean cradles his face in his hands and kisses life back into him. 

Castiel again expects to feel Dean waking up in the motel room off Interstate 76, but the hunter surprises him again by curling his long limbs around Castiel’s body. “It’s not time yet,” he mumbles. “Not time to wake up.” Dean positions them so they’re facing each other, and one hand is wrapped around the angel’s waist and one foot is crooked around Castiel’s ankle. “Not time,” Dean repeats. “Not time.”

He doesn’t know if Dean will remember any of this, and he can feel his Grace fading with each passing heartbeat, so Castiel absorbs into his memory the expanse of naked, freckled flesh and the peaceful and sated look on Dean’s face. He looks at him and knows that this is good, and he knows now what his Father must have felt the first time he gazed upon a man. He grabs Dean’s arm, which is not sullied by the Mark of Cain, and feathers light kisses up and down it until the hunter’s eyes flutter close. “Sweet dreams, Dean Winchester,” he whispers.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are love, but as Thumper says in Bambi, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say nothing at all."
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
